


Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn

by crimsondust



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 1815, Canon Compliant, Gen, Slightly OOC maybe, back story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9789431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsondust/pseuds/crimsondust
Summary: Exploring the daily life and tribulations in the Myriel household, especially focusing on Madame Magloire and Baptistine





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to midautumnnightdream for providing many of the ideas and excellent comments and feedback for the fic.

Winter had been an unwelcome guest for too long in 1815, making itself comfortable at the expense of most people, who often went about shivering underneath the thin layers of dresses and coats. It was the middle of March when the green shoots started becoming visible, along with tiny yellow and white flowers. Madame Magloire, taking out the laundry to dry, stretched her back as she watched a few birds fly away. She did not particularly like the uncertain weather- between winter and spring, where the cold thawed from everywhere, including the lake frequented by the ducks, but it was not warm enough or bright enough for spring. Weather like that, aggravated her asthma.  

Today though, she was feeling very well; she walked around the house, straightening and then turning a piece of cloth, dusting the little shelf and arranging the silver cutlery and plates for breakfast. Everything was already in place, in truth she was trying to occupy herself till the bishop should return from his early morning walk in the garden.

‘Ah! Madame Magloire,’ he said as he saw her in the garden, ‘I was pondering a question and forgot the time. Mainly that I need some more bulbs and some roses for my little plot. The frost this winter has not been good for them.’ He showed her a few dead ones before throwing them away.

With the breakfast things cleared away, Madame Magloire left Mademoiselle Baptistine reading and writing and hurried away to fetch some groceries. The two bishops from the neighbouring dioceses were expected to dinner and she had to make arrangements. She wondered whether to serve fish or meat as she walked along with a basket in her hand.

At a small shop, she saw an older woman, neatly dressed in a coat, slightly worn but which still indicated that she and it had seen better days, trying to sell some scarves she had knitted; the shop owner told her that she already had enough to sell and that the material itself would not fetch her much. The older lady turned back with disappointment.

Madame Magloire left the shop, thinking that she could never have saved enough for the furniture she wanted to purchase for the living room, so it was fortunate that the few extra coins she had saved should have gone to that woman selling scarves. She walked to the fishmonger’s shop in a happier state of mind. She remembered her own childhood and how that older woman reminded her of her own mother.

Madame Magloire had worked steadily since she was young, one job or other. She had been a cook and later a seamstress while her husband had worked in a factory. How time flies and changes the entire landscape of a town and of a life. She remembered the people not too many years ago, gossiping about the Bishop and Baptistine but also about her. Some of the gossip made her laugh quietly to herself as she thought about it. It's a funny thing, gossip, in a small town like theirs, she thought, now she was privy to all the gossip going around in Digne and many women admired her sewing and her good humour. She could soon set everyone in a room laughing and telling stories, such was her talent.

Baptistine, though quieter than her, also possessed that talent of capturing the attentions of a room full of women whenever she spoke. She spoke calmly and quietly but she spoke honestly and with feeling. Magloire thought well of her mistress. They were more or less good friends who understood each other. She could say several things she felt to Mademoiselle Baptistine without hesitation. Only on the matter of the Bishop going to Embrun while Cravatte, that highway robber had been at large had Baptistine pursed her lips and said that they should not talk about it anymore and leave the matter to God.   

She had remembered to purchase some flowers for Baptistine's room and to pick up some herbs from their neighbour Blanchet, whose children crowded around her, while Magloire talked. She smiled at them and thought of her own children, one married and one buried in a cemetery, in a village near the coast.

The smell of deliciously cooked fish was coming from the kitchen when there came a sound of something breaking. She rushed from the kitchen, rubbing her hands on her apron to see what it was. The Bishop was standing with a piece of a chipped vase in his hand, smiling.

‘Oh, Your Highness, you scared me, I thought somebody had fallen or died, the way the sound came. We can put the vase together again if it’s that important.’ She had started laughing, seeing the look of bemusement on Myriel’s face.

‘Ah! But my height does not reach the title you give me.’

Magloire had heard this joke several times. She contented herself with shaking her head, a smile on her lips.

The bishop continued, ‘But to answer your question, not for its value, you couldn’t even have gotten a few centimes from selling it, when it was in its original state. It is broken, but it is not less valuable in my eyes for that. It has acquired a new meaning by going through pain, by being broken, by its imperfections.’

Magloire smiled, ‘Is that going to be the message of your next sermon? About how you broke the vase with your clumsiness?’

The bishop laughed at those words. ‘Perhaps. If it is more interesting for the people of Digne to hear how their bishop accidentally broke a vase.’

‘My fish.’ Magloire turned around in horror and ran to the kitchen, ‘If the fish is burnt, Bishop, it will not be beautiful.’

‘We will have an amusing anecdote out of it at least.’  

‘You cannot feed the two bishops of the neighbouring dioceses with anecdotes.’

‘How very prescient you are, Madame Magloire.’ The bishop smiled.

Magloire had just cleared away the dinner plates after the bishops had taken their leave. Much of the discussion between the bishops had been carried out at the dinner table and they had taken their leave after dinner citing other commitments.

The bishop had remarked after they had left that perhaps, it was his discussion about the poor people in Digne instead of on matters of theology, that had caused them to leave so soon. 'People soon tire of me, they want to talk of philosophy, whereas I keep reminding them of the people around them.' he said simply.

She was wiping her hands on her apron, when she discovered a toy left behind by one of the children. She walked up to Baptistine’s room to put it safely away. The children, grand nephews of Mademoiselle Baptistine’s childhood friend, far from being tired were running around and playfully tackling each other, while Baptistine was trying to sketch their cheerful faces in her diary.

‘Has my brother retired to bed?’  

‘He’s still up reading.’ Magloire put the toy down, while one of the children, the youngest immediately hid his face in her apron.

‘Oh, what’s that?’ She looked at his face which carried streaks of tears.

‘Henri hit me.’

Baptistine smiled and consoled the little one.

‘You know these are really good.’

‘Oh what nonsense, these are just silly sketches. The children will be going home soon and I shall miss them.’

‘Our knitting club is meeting this Thursday. They are requesting more of your stories, especially the ones you wrote about the three witches.’

‘You know, I blame you entirely.’

‘Me? Who writes all those wonderful tales that the club has come to enjoy? Even the bishop has started to use some of your stories in his sermons.’

‘Changing the ending of course.’ Baptistine started putting things away with half a smile.

‘Of course.’ Magloire’s laughter rang around the room. The sound was infectious, even the bishop who was studying his bible heard it and smiled to himself.

‘Read us some stories.’ The youngest demanded.

Baptistine smiled as she took Perrault’s book of fairy tales and followed him. Baptistine read several stories, she had a delightful way of making things come alive when she read. They read of witches, kings and dragons, till the two boys dropped off to sleep. 

An hour later she was looking at the letters on her desk when Magloire came up behind her. She took her hand.

‘This package needs to be sent back.’ Baptistine waved her hand at a splendid parcel that had occupied nearly three fourths of the study table for several days.

‘Who is it from?’

‘From the general.’ She sighed, then added by way of explanation, ‘He doesn’t get along with brother. But thinks that he should make peace since we’ve come to that time of our lives, where we’re much too old to be arguing. It almost reminds me of our childhood quarrels. In that time, I was the mediator, Charles was much too hot-headed. He’s still stubborn.’ She laughed.

‘Why send it back?’

‘Because he chooses to get into my good graces with a gift, instead of appearing in person. I’m his sister.’ There was a frown on her face, Magloire could see from years of experience that Baptistine was angry.

‘I shall make sure that it is sent away soon enough.’

‘Thank you. You’ve always been a good friend, Magloire.’

‘And you. I remember when you hired me, it was a difficult time, and I couldn’t get a job. I will always be grateful.’

‘And I to you. When my engagement fell apart…you were the friend who cheered me up and kept me going.’

‘I am not sorry that you broke it off.’

Baptistine smiled, ‘Come, let’s have no more reminiscences of the past. After all, I’m not sad. Even if some things may not have turned out to be quite how we wished.’

‘There is one thing, oh how I would have liked to tell Lady Marchelant to stuff her face, when I left her employment.’

‘I know you would Marie.’ Baptistine smiled as she gently squeezed Madame Magloire’s hand.

‘Well, it is late.’ Madame Magloire wiped away a few tears with her apron, ‘I shall bid you goodnight and I have put some of the things in order in the bedroom.’

‘Oh, I was going to do it myself, thank you.’

Spring faded into long summer days, where the children in Digne would queue up to the fountains to cool themselves periodically, while playing their games. The adults felt the summer heat too. The bishop walking back from his duties, kept mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. Near, the garden, he met a woman from his parish and even though he was eager to go inside, he stopped to take a stroll with her in the garden while he listened to her grievances.

Baptistine saw her brother in deep conversation, from the window, where she had placed herself to wait for his return. When the good woman had taken her leave, he spent a few moments outside, watching the flowers and the bees.

‘Yes, he observed. ‘We should keep water for the birds outside. It is the middle of summer and they must be as thirsty as us.’

He came inside and taking off his coat and cassocks, sat down in the chair with a glass of water.

‘I have been walking all over Digne today, I nearly met an archbishop who only some years ago was a priest who had received me very warmly. But now that he has become taller, my height cannot reach him and therefore he did not even appear to notice me as I walked past. Still all that is well. The poor notice me and I notice them and we are happy.’

Baptistine could not help but feel a little outrage at her brother’s words, ‘You take everything too lightly, brother.’ She began.  

‘How else would you take life then?’

Baptistine smiled.

‘I wish to talk to you about a matter, Charles. Jacques keeps sending letters and parcels even though I’ve sent many of them back unopened.’ The bishop had by this time taken a book and was putting on his glasses to read for a while. He shut the book abruptly.

‘And?’ He asked.

‘Nothing, I told Madame Magloire to send everything back and she did. I want him to stop sending us letters and gifts.’

‘You were always the one making sure everybody got along well when we were young.’

‘I wanted everyone to get along well. But perhaps there are some things…’

The bishop put the glasses back and thumbed the pages of the book as he read, ‘Does he say anything in his letters?’

‘Only that he would like us to visit him. He's going on into his eighties and therefore very insistent.’

‘You should go. I have the duties of a bishopric, my time is for my parishioners but I will write to him.’

Baptistine gave a hollow laugh, ‘Go where? To the brothers who refused to take me in, because they were disappointed I refused to marry someone they chose, an influential man who would have helped their careers?’

The bishop had no answer to that. He went back to his book while Baptistine busied herself in helping Madame Magloire with the supper.  

Some more months had passed since then, the children had left a few weeks before and Baptistine had put the toys away. It was suddenly much quieter, Baptistine missed the two boys, even though she was always admonishing them on one thing or another. October had settled itself firmly into the ways of the household. There was something of a languidness along with a slight chill in the air, which made Baptistine and Magloire dress themselves warmly whenever they went outside.  

Madame Magloire entered Baptistine’s room where she was sitting after lunch. She took an hour each day to send letters or to write stories. Magloire was nearly out of breath, her cheeks red with the sudden exercise and excitement as she delivered this news,

‘Oh Mademoiselle Baptistine, there’s been a…a dangerous man who has come to Digne. Annette from the knitting club is going around talking about it. Apparently, her husband saw the man at the inn.’

‘A highway robber?’ Baptistine widened her eyes in concern, thinking of her brother who hadn’t come home.

‘A vagabond, those rough dangerou sorts, possibly a criminal. I knew we should have put the locks on doors, ages ago. I shall ask the Bishop again when he returns from his visit.’

‘You know my brother is set in his ways.’

‘Yes, but Annette was talking about how he looks as if he might murder us in our beds. She went straight home and locked her doors.’

Baptistine sighed, ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to him. Still, we must not be so hasty in judging our fellow men as they say. Who knows, maybe the poor man is not as dangerous as Annette thinks. She always lets her mouth run away with her.’

Magloire nodded, ‘I’m still waiting for her to pay the money for the knitting society’s annual event. How can she expect me to organize the thing and not pay in the money till the last minute?’

‘Well, give her a deadline and if she hasn’t paid by then, take her off the list.’

‘Magloire nodded and smiled, ‘It would be much less of a headache to go on a walking trip around the countryside without Annette, talking her head off.’

Baptistine smiled but said nothing. Magloire had busied herself in the preparations for dinner. The fading sun was filtering through the window and warming her pale, thin hands. Her strong and resolute spirit was visible on her face even though to all manners it appeared calm.  She was occupied with a problem that much was certain, the notes that she made on paper weren’t much helpful, scraps that revealed nothing. Perhaps it is not right to know everything about a person. Some secrets we shall let Baptistine keep, for at that moment, the bishop walked through the door.

Baptistine closed her notebook and went downstairs.  

 


End file.
